Put Out the Light
by Kate EP
Summary: Harry/Draco. *Possible slash in the future.* AU-summer school begins after the Triwizard Tournament. Ron and Hermione are on vacation. Harry is left alone to defend himself and to face Draco's relentless questions.
1. Default Chapter

Put Out the Light Harry sat in Transfiguration, idly rubbing the bridge of his glasses and sighing to himself. McGonagall and the other professors had added one week of classes for the fourth year students right after the Triwizard Tournament. The professors had claimed that they were trying to prepare the students for the upcoming OWLs. Harry couldn't help but wonder if perhaps they were trying to make things as normal as possible for the Hufflepuffs and for himself. 

Not that he ever saw the Hufflepuffs anymore. It seemed that Harry and his friends were doomed to spend this little summer school session with the Slytherins. In his first year, Potions class was the only time Harry had to face them. Now, it seemed that the Gryffindors were paired with the serpentine wizards any time there was a group or class meeting. 

What made things worse was that Ron and Hermione were exempt from these summer lessons, having already gotten clearance to leave on family vacations to Egypt and Greece. Hermione had worked ahead, completing all the assignments before she departed on her trip, but Ron had begged for extended time and wanted Harry to tutor him when Harry visited the Burrow this summer. Harry had grudgingly agreed. For the millionth time, he remembered how unfair it was that no parent had written HIM a note, asking to take him to an exotic land where he could escape the memories and cold halls of Hogwarts. He didn't want to go back to the Dursleys just yet, but the school was no picnic either. It seemed haunted by Cedric's ghost and by the ghosts of Death Eaters who had roamed the very halls just decades before Harry had gotten his letter of enrollment. 

"So, when you execute the spell properly, you should be able to manipulate the book to become a standard sized cauldron. Remember, the objects will continue to get larger as your experience with these spells grows. Let's begin." 

McGonagall walked up and down the aisles, praising some, giving constructive criticism to others. She let a hand rest on Harry's shoulder momentarily as she bent over Millicent Bulstrode and corrected her wand placement. 

A loud knocking at the classroom door broke the students' concentration for a moment.   
Dumbledore entered and spotted McGonagall in the middle of the room. His gaze rested for just an instant on Harry, who was busy taking notes from his textbook before trying to wave his wand over it and transform it into a cauldron. Harry didn't want to admit that he wasn't eager to see a cauldron just yet. In his nightmares he kept imagining blood being poured over a simmering pot of green smoke. 

Harry looked up at Dumbledore just in time to catch his reassuring blue gaze. "Minerva, may I see you in my office for a few minutes?" 

She turned to the class, "Please continue practicing in my absence. I'll check your progress when I return." 

A flurry of robes later, and the group was left unsupervised. Harry leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. Only twenty more minutes. Surely he could hold out that long before he found his bed in Gryffindor Tower and fell into it, exhausted but sleepless. Harry had probably slept a total of twelve hours this past week. Madam Pomfrey had refused to give him any more potions. She said that he might get addicted if he continued using them. Yes, a nap was more than needed right now. Harry knew that he could make himself take just a little nap. He would skip lunch as usual these days and just rest. 

Movement on the other side of the classroom caused Harry to look up. Draco was bending over Goyle, mimicking McGonagall, "And of course I'll check your progress when I return from my Potter Fan Club meeting, Gregory," he snarled. He had his hand on Crabbe's shoulder, rubbing it in mock sympathy while Crabbe moaned and clutched his head in imitation of Harry. "Dumbledore and I have some new Potter fan mail to answer in his office." His gaze landed on Harry and then, with no hesitation, Draco had scooted into the seat that was empty beside Harry. 

"Go away, Malfoy," Harry said tonelessly. God, just fifteen minutes. 

"How's the shoulder, Potter?" Draco asked. 

"Shut up and get away from me." 

"Why don't you let me give you a little healing massage?" 

"I'd rather die, thanks." Without thinking, Harry had grabbed his injured arm and pulled the sleeve of his robe farther down to his hand. There was still one bandage left. Draco caught this gesture, chuckled, and continued his unyielding interrogation. 

"Hmmm, death, well that's an interesting topic, too. So how was it, you know, being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse? Must be pretty rough." 

Harry didn't answer. Breath. Just breath, he told himself. Don't react and he'll stop. 

"And then there's Avada Kedavra, what was that like? Was it all just a bunch of fireworks and green light? I always wanted to see one of those Fourth of July celebrations in the states. Must be pretty cool, you know?" 

Harry jumped up and grabbed Malfoy's wrist. "If you don't back off, I swear I'll—   
I'll just…" 

"You'll what?" 

"I swear I'll hex you so bad that your face-" Harry saw Crabbe and Goyle get up, but Draco just waved them away impatiently. They sat back down, puzzled looks on their faces. 

"You know Potter, I think you've lost your nerve," whispered Draco, his face inches away from Harry's. "I don't think you could perform a hex if you wanted to. You can't even bear to look at a cauldron, much less your own wand. Give it a rest, I'm not frightened of you. Nobody is." 

Harry dropped Draco's wrist. 

"You're worthless, you know? I mean, You-Know-Who didn't kill you, of course, but he didn't leave much left, did he? All you are is a pathetic shell of the guy you were before the Tournament." Draco's face was unreadable now. He backed away, his eyes never leaving Harry's. Just in time. McGonagall was opening the classroom door. 

She dismissed the class. Everyone had left. Harry remained in his seat. What was it someone once said about your enemies knowing you better than your friends, he thought. What a bunch of junk, his brain concluded, and he picked up his books, shoving his chair under the desk with a hollow thud. 

"Leaving so soon?" drawled a voice from the back corner. 

Harry flinched. He didn't realize anyone else was still in the room. Perhaps Malfoy was right. He didn't seem to have instincts for anything anymore. His powers of observation were just as effective as a blind man's. 

"Malfoy, just leave me the hell alone!" Harry snapped. Lack of sleep and energy made him feel helpless right now, and that was the last feeling he wanted to possess when alone in a room with his nemesis. He moved quickly to the door, but Draco somehow beat him there and slammed the door shut before he could exit. 

"Get out of my way." 

"No." 

"What do you want with me anyway? You already told me I'm worth nothing, you made fun of me, you've made my life a living hell, you and your father both—" Harry's voice broke. 

"Maybe we should talk about that, Harry. You can't avoid the issue forever, you know." Draco's lips curled up in what looked like a twisted smile, but there was a strange light in his eyes. It made Harry more nervous than Draco's usual smirk. 

"What is there to talk about? You're evil, he's evil, you're both totally damned and sworn to kill me. Sorry if I don't want to engage in conversation about it. Please, just step out of the way." 

"It's not what you expected is it?" 

Harry groaned. "What are you talking about?" He was losing patience fast, but he didn't have the strength to retaliate. 

"You thought it would all work out, didn't you? Good always wins, light conquers dark. But it didn't happen. You saw Cedric die. And now you know the other side can win, and that no one will come to your rescue when it happens. The worst part is, you're all alone with that knowledge." Draco's intense gaze was too much. Harry slowly backed away, running into the desk behind him. It was as if each of Draco's words were daggers piercing his heart, tearing him in half. 

"No." 

"You can't tell that Mudblood Granger. She might have nightmares, more than she already has had since the Chamber of Secrets incident." 

"How did you know she-" 

"And you can't tell Ron. God, that would completely ruin your image. Think of what the dear old Weasleys would say if they knew that their very own Harry Potter had lost hope. No summer vacations for you this year, to say the least." 

"Just stop it." 

"They count on you, don't they?" Draco seemed to be stalking him. He moved closer and closer to Harry. "You're like the ray of light that everybody uses to illuminate the dark nights when they can't sleep." 

"Malfoy, get away from me!" Harry's voice had risen to an unnatural pitch. He felt himself slipping. Draco closed the distance and his hand was extended, the fingers brushing his cheek, not unlike the very moment when Voldemort had reached out and caressed his face. Harry gasped, and tried to turn his face away, but Draco grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. 

"Too bad they don't know that the light has gone out." 

Their eyes met for just one second that seemed to stretch into eternity. Harry stopped breathing. Oh no. No. How did he know, how could he possibly— 

Draco whirled around and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor beyond the classroom door. 

Harry was alone.   
  
  
  
  
  



	2. So Much for Treehouses

Put Out the Light ch2 Harry awoke from fitful dreams with a sweat-drenched forehead, the remnants of another violent tossing and turning spree that had plagued him every night since late June. Only a nap, he mused. Imagine what I must look like after a full night of sleep. No wonder the other Gryffindors hastened out the door before speaking a word to him each morning. 

He turned the lamp on. No one home once more. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were nowhere to be seen. Why would he know where they were anyway? It's not like he had ever paid any great attention to these people who were not his closest friends. What reason did they have to check on him or offer him solace when he felt isolated? 

Harry found himself looking forward to the evening owl post. Surely there would be messages from Hermione and Ron. Perhaps he should go visit Hagrid. 

But what could any of these people say that would offer him relief? Nothing. They knew he wasn't well, but they didn't know the symptoms. 

It was as if Draco had read a blueprint of his thoughts. His fears. No one but Draco seemed to know that every night a voice whispered to him. A voice that was cold and shrill. It seemed to be calling him out of his reverie and into a life of more promise and pleasure. After all, didn't Draco once tell him that he had chosen the losing side? 

The thought that Harry had managed to suppress most of his waking hours came creeping back to the surface with astonishing but forbidden clarity: 

What would happen if he changed his mind? 

Harry buried his face in the pillow and pounded his fist in the covers. Damn it.   
  


He sat by the lake and watched the giant squid's fins flash in the moonlight. Without lunch or dinner, Harry had felt almost faint walking to the water's edge. What if he just kept walking? What if he hadn't stopped? The feelings of self-loathing and inadequacy had become so steeped in his soul that drowning was just a physical metaphor for what had already taken place inside him. It was only a matter of time before he would be a candidate for St. Mungo's. And that seemed a fate almost worse than death. 

Surveying the trees near the shoreline, Harry detected a movement in the branches of one of the closest ones, a flash of silver that was almost imperceptive except for reflecting itself in the moon's light. 

"Who's there?" Great, he realized. Now I'm seeing things, too. 

But wait, perhaps someone was there. And the strangest sensation of hope came over him. 

"Draco?" 

The voice called down to him. "It's me, Potter." Hidden feet now swung down to the grass with a thump. 

"What are you doing in that tree? Are you nuts?" 

"I might be. But then we'd have something in common." 

Silence. 

In the distance Harry heard the squid in the lake resurface, splash the shallow waters, and then dive below again, on to deeper territory. 

Harry retreated into sarcasm. "So, since when do you like climbing trees, Malfoy? Or is this just an excuse to spy on me long enough to pay me compliments again?" 

"My father built me a treehouse when I was eight. I always come up here. It reminds me stuff we did together before he got too busy." 

"Too busy?" 

"Yeah. He had all these other obligations to fulfill at one point—" 

"Okay, okay, sorry I asked." Harry turned and started walking back to the castle. 

Draco called out to him, "I'm not. Look, it wasn't about dear old Voldemort if that's what your little warped mind was thinking. Use your head, Harry, and do the math. You-Know-Who wasn't in power when I was eight." 

Harry stopped for a moment, his back still to Draco. "So what? I'm sure your 'dear old dad' was planning his welcome home party and getting invitations engraved at that point anyway." 

"You should be a comedian, Potter. Really though, your witticisms are impressive. I thought you had lost the ability to bait me, along with everything else." 

Harry turned around. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means just what I told you earlier in McGonagall's class. You aren't the same person, and you know it. Just admit it, and spare me the Gryffindor bravery act." 

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the next. He felt a little dizzy from lack of food and sleep. "Well, so what?" he retorted. "You'd probably have a little post-traumatic stress too if you'd seen what I'd seen." 

"I have seen it." 

"What?" 

Draco's face once again was clouded by something Harry couldn't identify. "I mean, for the last two years, I've seen things. Unspeakable things. Things that might even be worse than what you described from the Tournament. And what's worse, they happened in my own backyard, so to speak." The young Slytherin shrugged. "So much for treehouses." 

Draco hopped back up in the tree and swung his legs over a protruding branch. Unwillingly, Harry had found himself moving closer to Draco during this discussion. He watched his enemy climb the tree and felt awkward, standing in the moonlight and looking up at Draco, trying to find the meanings behind Malfoy's cryptic remarks. 

"But it doesn't bother you?" 

Draco's face peered between leaves. "What doesn't?" He smiled down. 

Harry was even more confused as Draco climbed higher. "The horrible stuff happening all around you." 

"That's one interpretation. I see it as a display of power. Horrific, yes. Unsettling, yes. Cruel, yes. But boring, never." 

"I think I'd rather be bored." 

"No you wouldn't. You thrive on it." 

"Thrive on what?" 

"The allure of danger. The need to be powerful. The need to win. You should take a look in the mirror when you're pursuing the Snitch. The expression on your face reflects it all. So does mine for that matter." 

"If I'm thriving, as you put, then how can my so-called 'light' be out?" Harry challenged.   
He was almost touching the outer branches of Draco's tree at this point, hovering around the leaves, like a moth circling a flame. 

"Because what happened in that graveyard was the death of your former life. You haven't truly accepted the benefits or the gifts of your new life. You don't know that all along you were perfect for the other side." 

"Forget it, Draco. I'm not a Slytherin at heart. Hate to dash your hopes of becoming a shrink. So quit the psychoanalysis, it's creepy." 

"Creepy because there might be some truth in it?" 

"No, creepy because you usually insult me and belittle me, and now you seem fascinated by the workings of my inner mind. What's up, anyway?" 

No answer. Instead, Draco did something that thoroughly surprised Harry. He stepped to a lower branch on the tree and held out a hand.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
